


The adventures of space daddy and his green son

by finnjonesbaratheon



Series: Space daddy and his green son [1]
Category: The Mandalorian
Genre: Gen, I just love these two so much, the father-son content I didn’t even know I needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21951988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnjonesbaratheon/pseuds/finnjonesbaratheon
Summary: Baby Yoda has some artistic talents.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV), Mando loves his little green son
Series: Space daddy and his green son [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1580491
Comments: 8
Kudos: 303





	The adventures of space daddy and his green son

**Author's Note:**

> I love this duo so damn much omg.

**Author’s note:** I got inspired to write this after I saw [ this ](https://orientalld.tumblr.com/post/189607479687/dad-is-trying-to-work-baby-yoda-behave-its) fan art. I’ve recently jumped on the baby Yoda bandwagon and I don’t regret it one bit. Side note: I know nothing about Star Wars. I just love the little baby.

The child had begun to grow antsy. Out in the vastness of space, running away from fobs and other bounty hunters who wouldn’t rest until they brought The Child (and Din) in, there weren’t many opportunities for things to do. Mando and his kid were always on the move to the next planet. He was afraid of staying on any one planet for too long because he didn’t want to risk getting found out and putting the kid in danger. But all that movement meant that the kid didn’t have any chances to make lasting friendships; and while the kid wasn’t at an age where he could vocalize his displeasure with this, he let Din know how he felt through his body language.

Every now and then he’d fiddle with the controls, and Din would have to remove him from the control panel and set him in his lap (not that the kid minded this one bit). Besides just fiddling with the controls, he’d crawl all over Din’s body looking for attention, he’d make noises whenever Din wasn’t looking directly at him, and he’d run off (or as fast as his little legs could take him) any time they landed on a planet and Din let him walk around.

Mandalorians were known for taking in foundlings, but this didn’t mean that they were great at taking care of them. Parental instincts weren’t necessarily things that were instilled in Mandalorians—they were all too busy learning how to fight and kick ass to worry about knowing how to keep a little one preoccupied. Din felt like he was failing at parenting, which was odd considering that he and the little one were technically _fugitives_ and he didn’t have enough free time to sit around and think about his parenting skills.

On one of the planets they stopped on, Din happened to see a small market where parents were letting their young ones pick out all types of toys and knick knacks. The only toy that the baby had for himself was the little silver ball, and although Din didn’t know much about parenting, he knew that _that_ was a choking hazard waiting to happen. Snuggling the child closer to his chest, Din walked to where he saw all of the parents and children congregating at and stared around helplessly. As small as this market was, it held a plethora of toys for children. Din would’ve let the child down to choose for himself, but he immediately remembered what happened any time the child was free to run around on his own.

Still, he pointed to tiny table after tiny table trying to see what captured the child’s eye. At the sight of one of the tables, the child let out a loud “AH!” and made grabby hands at it. Din looked from the child’s hands to the table in question, then slowly walked over to it. The closer Din got, the louder the child’s noises got and the more insistent his hands got. If Din hadn’t had a vice-like grip on the baby he was sure he would’ve jumped out of his dad’s arms and landed right on the table.

“You want this?” Din asked, pointing to what he thought was making his kid so excited. The kid squirmed around in his arms, and when he realized that he couldn’t get loose he reached his tiny hands toward the item in question that Din was pointing at. Said item was a coloring book sat atop a box of crayons, colorful chalk, markers, and mini paints. It was in mint condition, too. Definitely pricey.

“Ah! Ah!” The baby whined, still reaching out for the coloring book and box.

It was obvious that the baby wouldn’t let his dad leave without purchasing the box and coloring book.

Din sighed, knowing that resistance was futile, and asked the woman behind the table how much the book and box cost.

“18 credits,” she told him, knowing she was going to make a sale no matter the price. Parents rarely ever ignored their children’s desires when they were that strong.

Din sighed again, but took out the money and put it on the table in front of the woman.

“Would you like a bag, sir?” The woman asked as Din grabbed the items, but he shook his head no. He put the book in the kid’s hands and held the box in his free hand.

“You can use this when we get back on the ship,” he told the little one as he stared at the coloring box in Din’s other hand.

Back on the Razor Crest, Din sat the kid down in his makeshift car seat and put the box right in front of him.

“Have at it,” he told the kid, who merely giggled in response.

There was relative silence on the ship for the first fifteen minutes Din flew around in space. The only noises were small coos from the baby and the scribbling of markers on paper. After that, Din heard nothing for a few seconds, then he heard the sound of little feet hitting the ship floor. He was certain that the coloring book was keeping the baby occupied, so he didn’t bother turning around to check. It wasn’t until he felt something tugging at his cape, followed by a grip on his shoulder, did he realize that his previous assumption had been wrong.

“What’re you—” He didn’t get the chance to finish. He felt tiny feet on his shoulder and heard the sound of something squeaking on his helmet. The kid was _drawing_ on the beskar.

“I’m trying to work, little one. Behave,” Din told the kid, to no avail. The child kept doodling his heart away.

Din sighed yet again, but didn’t try to move the kid away. Any attempt to do that would have resulted in a tantrum by the little one, so it wasn’t like it was really a choice. So there Din sat: flying through space in his ship while his baby scribbled all over his beskar helmet and cooed at his handiwork.

He supposed there were worse ways to spend his time as a fugitive.


End file.
